


Don't Forget the Flowers

by Oboeist3



Category: Hot Guy P.I. (Webcomic)
Genre: (mostly various Schmidt family members), Autistic Schmidt, Denial is a hell of a drug, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oboeist3/pseuds/Oboeist3
Summary: When Schmidt is invited to his sister's wedding, the tentative balance of he and Nando's relationship is shaken. For better or worse?
Relationships: Schmidt/Nando Sy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Don't Forget the Flowers

It starts with a letter. A plain enough looking letter, sitting perfectly parallel on Schmidt’s desk. There’s nothing about it to indicate why Schmidt is glaring at it like that. Well, trying to glare. He doesn’t actually have the ability to look menacing, as far as Nando can tell. Sort of inevitably pretty.  
  
“What’s that?“ he asks, perching himself casually against the desk. He’s not quite as good at it as Schmidt is, but he suspects that’s something he might have practiced. One of those things models learned how to do, seem so natural in lots of different spaces. Although knowing Schmidt, it could just be something he was born able to do.  
  
“An invitation.” he says glumly, not moving his gaze from the letter. Schmidt doesn’t really do eye contact. He’ll pretend sometimes, but he’s stopped with Nando, knows he doesn’t care. It’s an arbitrarily set social convention, after all. The words aren’t that insightful, but at least it’s more specific than ‘letter'.  
  
“What for?” he prods, because when it comes to it, Schmidt isn’t that mysterious. He just doesn’t answer beyond what is asked, misses hidden questions. He’s fairly honest with whatever he is asked though.  
  
“A wedding.” Yea actually, that’s not an entirely unreasonable reaction to being invited to a wedding, depending on whose it is. Nando’s sat through three of his cousins that he doesn’t actually know that well, and two that he does.  
  
“One of your influencer friends?” he asks, because that might be kind of bearable. Certainly they wouldn’t be likely to skimp on food or alcohol, even if there is a whole audience of phones recording the event. Maybe a live stream going too. Hmm, actually he’s starting to think the cons might outweigh the pros here.  
  
“My sister.” he says. Nando doesn’t know much about Schmidt’s sister, just that she exists and is a few years older than him. Sometimes she sends texts to him, about their parents or an article or something. They seem close enough, for adult siblings.  
  
“Oh. I thought you liked your sister.” he says tentatively, which breaks Schmidt’s attempted glare into an expression of bewilderment, turned up at Nando. It notches a small wrinkle between his eyes, which shouldn’t be as cute as it is.  
  
“Of course I like my sister.” he asserts, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. There’s not nearly enough evidence for that to be the foregone conclusion he seems to think it is.  
  
“Then why are you trying to light the invitation on fire with your eyes?” he points out, and Schmidt sighs.  
  
“You know what it’s like to be single and attractive at a wedding.” he says, waving his hand in an up-and-down motion, as if to illustrate his own hotness. Nando’s eyes follow, because movement is interesting. It’s not like he needs to take another peek, not with all the time they spend together.  
  
“Woe is you, getting flirted with by tipsy bridesmaids.” he says, sarcastically. It flies over Schmidt’s head in an impressive arch.  
  
“Exactly!” he says, and then seems to catch up when Nando’s expression stays deadpan. “You don’t get it. A little good natured flirting is fine, but her friends are _scary_.”  
  
“What’s so scary about them?” he asks. He’s imagining a room of knife-wielding maniacs, which seems unlikely. He doesn’t know what else Schmidt is afraid of, though.  
  
“They’re all smart people.” he says, which is a bit of an anticlimax.  
  
“You’re smart people. A smart person. Whatever.” Nando ribs him for things like locking himself out of his apartment enough to learn to lock pick, or not realizing that Bear Grills is not actually a bear. But Schmidt’s extremely observant, remarkably quick-thinking, and he can do math. That’s pretty damn smart, in his eyes.  
  
“Not really. My sister’s friends, they’ve got PhDs and MDs and all manner of letters after their names. It’s a different caliber of smart. They’ll talk about the papers they’ve been writing and the places they’ve traveled to and I’ll just be there. Handsome and dumb.” he says, and sounds so genuinely mournful that’s Nando can’t stand it.  
  
“I could go with you. Then I’d be the dumbest person in the room. You’ll seem like a mega genius. You know, by comparison.” he says, not intending it to be a full on offer, but when Schmidt’s whole face lights up like afternoon sunshine, well, it seals the deal.  
  
He’s probably going to have to get a new suit.  
  


* * *

  
Nando does have to get a new suit, because Schmidt comes over to rifle through his wardrobe, declare everything varying levels of too old and too casual, and then drag him away. The shop he’s taken to is extremely classy and would be prohibitively expensive, but Schmidt waves away cost concerns with a shiny black credit card.  
  
“Normally I go for more mid-price fashion too, but this is a wedding. We’ve got to look the part.” he says, though of course he doesn’t look out of place at all in his crisp gray overcoat and perfectly tailored slacks. The aesthetic intimidation of it all is only slightly impinged by Nando’s knowledge that he has so many cool-looking big jackets in part so that he can swoosh them around dramatically.  
  
When asked by an attendant what his measurements are, Nando starts to really feel his ‘too poor to be here’ status, but before he can stumble to say what he thinks they are, Schmidt cuts in with more accurate ones. In centimeters.  
  
“How do you know my measurements?” he asks, because it’s a bit odd, even for him. Schmidt doesn’t seem to have gotten that, because he replies easily.  
  
“I was just in your closet, and I have eyes. It would’ve been more difficult if you were always wearing the baggy clothes, but sometimes you approach a fitted look. Slowly.” He’s not sure if that was one of Schmidt’s intentional rude moments, or just a consequence of how he talks.  
  
When they first started working together, he used to bristle at every supposed slight, every remark that could be taken poorly. Pretty people being mean was an established thing that happened. Schmidt’s whole deal wasn’t, not then.  
  
“Most people can’t tell measurements just from looking.” he points out, and Schmidt tilts his head, considering.  
  
“I used to figure out the area of rooms when I was bored as a kid.” Of course he did.  
  
“Can you still do that? How big’s this room?”  
  
“Depends on where you put the walls. Those two are temporary. What unit?” he asks, and they spend the next several minutes flicking through them: square feet and yards and furlongs, which Nando didn’t actually know were super big until that moment.  
  
You learn something new every day.  
  


* * *

The suit is surprisingly basic, when it arrives a few days later. Peach dress shirt, black coat and slacks. There’s that expensive shine to it, but no patterning or detailing, as far as he can see. It’s so much tamer than Schmidt’s usual formalwear. Especially compared to the beautiful plum suit he’s retrieved from the dry cleaner.  
  
“Am I still going to be underdressed at this wedding?” he says, only half-joking, as they board the subway to go to the rehearsal. Nando certainty hasn’t gone very formal for this, just a maroon shirt and his white pants.  
  
He thought it was nice enough, since this rehearsal is mostly for the party planners, according to Schmidt. The happy couple won’t be there, busy being doctors, but Schmidt’s parents will be. They’re the ones who insisted on a bit of celebration, since his sister would’ve been perfectly content to just walk into a courthouse one day and sign all the papers. Their mother, especially, needed pictures for scrapbooking purposes.  
  
“Of course not. You’re not supposed to outshine the bride at a wedding. If they were going with a pastel color scheme it’d be one thing. But it’s traditional, so muted we go.” he says, and Nando blinks at the maybe implication that himself in color is that outstanding. He’s probably reading too much into that though.  
  
They arrive at the reception hall, which is nice, if a bit generic looking. It’s definitely the sort of room that alternates between wedding parties and bar mitzvahs with little tweaking. The decoration is suitably lovely: black, white and silver, though all the flowers are different shades of pink and light orange. The more interesting thing though is the sign. Wedding party of Schmidt and Sani.  
  
That means Schmidt _has_ to be a last name, right? He wonders if he’ll get to hear his first name. After all, his parents won’t be calling him by surname. Nando really ought to know what it is by now. He knows that his first name is Romeo, mortifying as that is. He’ll take Nando any day.  
  
“So are they going to be the Schmidt-Sanis or the Sani-Schmidts?” he prods, seeking confirmation.  
  
“I don’t think they’re hyphenating at all. Just Schmidt and Sani. Changing their medical licenses would be an ordeal. Freya hates that sort of thing.” Double score, he has the sister’s name too. He was he genuinely worried he might not catch it before the event and have to awkwardly ask her.  
  
“Being dramatic isn’t a Schmidt family trait?” he teases, but he actually seems to consider it carefully.  
  
“Freya is always herself, above everything. If she’s respected in that, then she won’t make a fuss. If she isn’t, she’ll tear down everything in her path. She’s the best of friends and worst of enemies.” he says, and in that moment it is as obvious as he assumed earlier that he loves her.  
  
There’s a certain distance Schmidt usually has, talking about people. Like he’s back a few paces, observing. Not really part of the group. It’s not superiority, he doesn’t think himself above the general populace. More that he doesn’t belong there.  
  
Nando thinks love suits him better.  
  
“Guess I better not become her enemy.” he says, putting a hand behind his head the way he tends to when he’s a little nervous about something. It’s a good call, considering what he says next.  
  
“Wise decision. Parents incoming.”  
  
Schmidt’s parents look...like him, mostly. His mother is rounder in the face, and a handful of inches shorter, but she has the same flinty blue-gray eyes, a mole high on her cheek. His father isn’t a full duplicate, more wrinkles, a little less trim, but he still has that movie star quality, with his salt and pepper hair and big shining smile.  
  
“Heya son. How’s life? Still doing that Instagramed business?” he says jovially, while he and his son share a very firm handshake. He sounds like such a caricature of the older generation, but there’s the familiar Schmidt bluntness to it. Which means he’s probably not joking.  
  
“I’m doing well, Dad. I’m mostly focusing on the PI work right now, but I keep my page active.”  
  
“Oh Walter, I wish you wouldn’t talk business right from the start. We’re planning a wedding you know!” she says, a hint of mild, maternal disapproval in her voice.  
  
“Sorry Addie.” Walter says, flashing that winning grin a bit sheepishly. She accepts the apology with a quick flick of the wrist, just like Schmidt uses for emphasis.  
  
“Now give your Mommy a hug, dearest. I appreciate your messages but it’s not the same as an in-person visit. It’s just my luck to have a family of workaholics.” she says, overdramatic but not exactly wrong, by the evidence. Schmidt does give her a hug, and Nando just stands there feeling the awkward observer he is, not sure if he could, or should, insert himself.  
  
“Don’t stand too mightily. Who do you think we learned it from?” he says, and seems to figure introductions are in order. “Mom and Dad, meet my partner, Nando. Nando, my parents.”  
  
“Nice to meet you.” he says, giving a little wave, and feels immediately stupid for it. He should’ve worn something nicer, he should’ve prepared for this.  
  
“Oh well isn’t he handsome!” she coos, which Schmidt just nods agreement to. Admiring attractiveness isn’t something he’s shy about. Nando is the one who goes pink from it. “He talks about you all the time, you know. I’ve never heard anyone earn so much of his praise! Except for Jenny, but she’s a doll. It’s such a shame you two couldn’t work something out.” she says, and Schmidt shrugs.  
  
“I’m not attracted to women, Mommy. That’s a bit of a deal breaker.”  
  
“I know, and I love you no matter who you bring home, as long as they’re good to you.” she declares, and there’s not a hint of anything in that. Nando’s a bit jealous. His mother, she accepted the bisexuality, but she was always hopeful that he’d chose a nice woman to settle down with. Which he did, until they realized they made better friends than lovers. He got Nadia out of it too, and she’s the best. Even when she’s pretending to be the worst.  
  
“I just worry about you. You’ve always been so solitary, and I don’t want you to be lonely.” she says, and Walter puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. Schmidt goes serious for a moment.  
  
“I’m not. Really Mom, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” he says, with a smile so soft and genuine that it hurts.  
  
They descend into small talk then, about the ordeal of planning a wedding and trip to a vineyard the couple went on recently, and some stuff about finance and algorithms with Walter that he can’t really understand. Nando makes the occasional comment, and even gets to do his whole proud dad thing when Nadia comes up. Addie is suitably impressed by his collection of photos, and assures him that the teenage years are rough, but he’ll get through it.  
  
“They’re figuring themselves out, and it’s so hard. Both of them were nervous wrecks when they came out, Freya especially. As if I wouldn’t love them unconditionally. It broke my heart a little, it did. But look at them now.” she says, glancing over at Schmidt, who’s chatting and smiling and looking perfect.  
  
“He’s great. I mean, he does drive me crazy half the time. He’s judgmental about all my outfits and is rude to my dog and sometimes he says the stupidest things, but still. Every day I feel like I learn more about him. I....I want him to stay.” he says, and there’s a realization in there somewhere. Something tentative and fragile.  
  
Something he can’t look at directly, or he’ll break.  
  


* * *

It’s the day of the wedding, and Schmidt is pacing. Back and forth and back again in the office, probably proving a sight through the glass. A lovely one, naturally, in his suit. Nando’s eyes follow his path from where he’s sitting, extremely carefully as to not wrinkle his suit, on the couch.  
  
“You alright there?” he asks, even though the answer is an obvious no. Maybe it’ll help him to say it. And anything seems better than the silence.  
  
“I want a cigarette.” he says, short and clipped and a half-growl around the edges. It’s unhelpfully attractive, actually.  
  
“There’s probably enough time.” he says, looking down at his phone. Even Schmidt, who prides himself on a certain amount of timeliness, agreed it was too early to head out.  
  
“I’m not going to a wedding of _doctors_ smelling like an ash tray.” he says, and Nando feels he has to point out the obvious.  
  
“You always smell a little bit like smoke.” It’s not unpleasant, though Nando is among a shrinking minority who doesn’t mind it much at all. Adds flavor. Probably cancer too, but he tries not to think about that.  
  
“That’s on my clothes. This suit has been sealed and I haven’t smoked since I got it.” he says, and that explains why he’s been a bit tetchy lately.  
  
It’s not that Schmidt has a big problem. He’s actually cut down on the smoking significantly in the last couple years. He says he used to go through packs in college, still has faint little scars on the tips of his fingers from how short he would smoke them. But when he’s stressed, anxious, can’t get his brain to click on a question, he pulls out a cigarette and savors it. More often than sometimes, Nando watches out of the corner of his eye, at the blasted out pupils and the bliss on his face.  
  
“Wanna grab some nicotine gum?” he asks, but Schmidt doesn’t halt his pacing, just shakes his head.  
  
“Doesn’t work for me.”  
  
“What does?”  
  
“Something else addictive. Coffee, alcohol, sex.”  
  
“I can probably get you one of those things.” That makes Schmidt stop, look at him.  
  
“C-Coffee! I can get you coffee.” he clarifies, stuttering and embarrassed. It doesn’t help that Schmidt is still looking at him. Nando’s the chicken who looks away. “And there will be plenty of alcohol at a wedding.”  
  
He flees under the pretense of getting that coffee, and the mocha with a healthy dollop of whipped cream does seem to soften his mood. Yet there’s still a tension on the drive to the venue, something sharp-edged that keeps conversation from flowing.  
  


* * *

The ceremony is a small thing, around twenty, maybe thirty people. They’re a varied crowd, a whole slice of New York demographics. The Schmidt family is ghost white, while the Sani family are a dark brown. Looking at them side by side is a little jarring, visually speaking, but there’s no particular awkwardness in their interactions. They’ve clearly met at some point.  
  
The doctor friends that Schmidt was so concerned about mostly Asians, east and south and Arab, though there’s also a couple of Spanish speakers chatting near the back. A good majority have pagers and whenever one goes off they _all_ stop talking and peer down before continuing. Nando can get the intimidation factor a bit now, he hears scraps of conversation and doesn’t understand any of them. Not to mention that they’re all impeccably dressed and extremely attractive. Is this another Schmidt family thing? Beauty magnetism? Hell he’s starting to get nervous now.   
  
He goes to stick his hand in his pocket, but Schmidt halts it, pulls it into his as they move towards where the family is seated. It’s just an efficiency thing, he’s sure, but the action still has him feeling warm. Especially since once they get to their seats Schmidt doesn’t let go.  
  
He’s sat next to Ife Sani, the other bride’s mother, who is soft-spoken and exceedingly polite, asks about where he got his hair done and how he’s connected to the family.  
  
“I’m with him.” he says to the latter, realizing that he still doesn’t know Schmidt’s first name. At a wedding where a decent number of people are Schmidts. Maybe he should have just asked him directly, instead of treating it like a mystery, but before he can lean over and whisper something to the effect, the music starts to echo down the hall. The ceremony is beginning.  
  
The brides look absolutely stunning on the arms of their fathers, both in white dresses that are intricate without being ostentatious. It’s all going very well, until one of the flower girls trips on a train and they both reach down to steady her, and the look they share is. Adoring seems too small. Nando hears sniffles from around the room, and fears he too is going to succumb into tears. A glance at Schmidt reveals he isn’t, but his grip is a little bit tighter on Nando’s hand. He squeezes back, hopefully reassuring.  
  
They say their vows, which is when he learns that Freya’s middle name is Teresa and the Sani bride is Charlotte. They’re mostly to the script but there’s a line about neurotransmitters and another about long hours that makes the doctors chuckle. Their kiss is sweet and he does tear up, just a bit. He’s at a wedding, it’s the thing to do.  
  
Schmidt leans over, places a thumb under his eye, and just stays there. Doesn’t wipe it away. “Nando...” he says, soft as anything, but the rest of his words are drowned out by the applause. He finds out later that Charlotte had fully leapt into Freya’s arms, and she just laughed and spun her around as they left the hall. He couldn’t notice it live, because he can’t look away, can’t stop staring at Schmidt, at his pursed lips and wide eyes, expectant of a response. Nando shakes his head, he didn’t hear what he said, and Schmidt’s whole expression goes cool, neutral. He pulls away.  
  
He doesn’t wait for Nando to catch up.  
  


* * *

The reception turned out great, as far as the party stuff goes. The decorations are perfectly arranged, everyone has food and a place to sit. The newlyweds are suitably enamored with each other. He can barely listen to all the funny stories from medical school and their astoundingly competitive meet-cute. Because Schmidt’s not there.  
  
He hasn’t left entirely, he’s still in the room actually. He just won’t go anywhere near Nando. Whenever he spots him, he shuffles away at a brisk pace. It’s not subtle, which would be funny if it wasn’t....whatever. As soon as it isn’t extremely tacky he’s getting himself a drink. Schmidt can get a Lyft home if he doesn’t want to face him.  
  
“Ugh, kiss and make up already.” comes a voice from behind him, low and sonorous. He turns to see Dr. Freya Schmidt, in all her bridal glory. She and her brother look extremely similar, from the strong jawline to the rich black of their hair. Hers is much longer though, and she has large glasses, squarish, like his.  
  
“Uh, congratulations.” he says at first, because it’s the polite thing. He’s not sure why hee was so worried. Nando’s pretty sure she’s the most intimidating person in the entire room.  
  
“Thanks. Seriously though, whatever tiff you’ve gotten into with Schmidt, just apologize and get it over with. I don’t want moping at my wedding.”  
  
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” he says, then pivots at that one word. “Wait, you call him Schmidt?”  
  
“Of course I call him Schmidt, that’s his name.”  
  
“His name is _Schmidt Schmidt_?!”  
  
“No.” she says, looking at him like he’s stupid, which isn’t super fun, yea. “He doesn’t like to use his first name, I can relate.” This is a strange statement, because he’s been hearing people call her Freya all night, and these are her friends and family, they should respect that.  
  
“You don’t like Freya?” he asks, and she laughs at him.  
  
“Sorry, I forgot you’re one of like, three people here who doesn’t know. I’m trans. I meant my old name. I like Freya enough that I went to court to get it made official.” Nando’s getting an inkling about why she hates paperwork revision now. Even if it wouldn’t be as much of an ordeal this time around.  
  
“Anyway, even if it isn’t your fault, just apologize. He’ll forgive you in an instant. He’s not the best at holding a grudge when it’s deserved, and he _adores_ you.” she says, like it’s a given. It’s not particular platonic in implication either.  
  
“We’re not like that, you know. He’s my friend.” His best friend, probably, but that feels a bit pathetic to admit. That he’s thirty-three and he met his best friend via a ride-sharing app. “He’s not...he doesn’t have romantic feelings for me.” He flirts and Nando flirts back, because it’s fun. It’s not real, it doesn’t mean anything.  
  
“You’re an idiot.” she says, and won’t even give him the time to bristle at that. “My brother has two emotional modes. Distant and ‘will die for.’ You were in the second camp within two, maybe three days? He started a business with you, he’s willing to deal with his greatest fear on a regular basis just so that you can keep your dog in the office. Seventy-eight percent of our correspondence relates back to you in some way. He’s learning about K-POP because your daughter likes it. He’s in love with you. Even the blockhead seems to have realized it. Why haven’t you?”  
  
“I’m...going to go talk to Schmidt.” he says, feeling a bit like he’s been sucker punched. Worst of enemies indeed.  
  
“Good luck.” she says, a blessing of a kind. He’ll take it.  
  
He’ll take all the help he can get.  
  


* * *

Cornering Schmidt is a bit like solving a puzzle, finding a way to approach without being seen or allowing an avenue of escape. He fails a handful of times, going too direct. He decides the best course of action is to trap him with the rules of polite company. Schmidt’s not above making a scene in general, but he won’t at a wedding. As a slow song croons over the speakers, he manages to grab his hand, make Schmidt look at him.  
  
“Dance with me.” he says, an out-of-breath plea instead of a request. He nods, once. Even lets Nando take the lead. He’s not a great dancer, but he can count to three and shuffle across the floor in something like a pattern.  
  
“I’m sorry.” he says, once they’ve settled into enough of a rhythm that he doesn’t have to think through each step. “I was told that’s a good place to start, whatever I’ve done.”  
  
“You haven’t done anything.” he says, each word drenched in misery.  
  
“Isn’t that the problem? That you want me to? That you want. Me.” he says, feels like an idiot saying it. What if she’s wrong, what if he messed up some other way? What if he laughs in his face for even entertaining the thought that Schmidt would ever, in a million years, like him back.  
  
“More than is appropriate.” he admits, which is a sour victory when he’s still talking like that. Like he can barely stand being here.  
  
“It doesn’t have to be.” he says, and Schmidt tries to push him away. Nando doesn’t let go, doesn’t know if he’ll get another chance at this. Instead of falling to the floor, a hand braces at his waist, dips him. Pulls him back into an angry expression, inches away.  
  
“This isn’t a _joke_. Don’t play games with me.” he says, broken and hurt. He’s used to being played with, his feelings a toy for other’s amusement. Used to performance, facade, to light-hearted nothing. Reciprocation is nothing more than a cheat.  
  
“Who’s playing?” he says, laces fingers in his perfect hair and kisses him. It’s not a kiss for public performance, too raw, too desperate. Full of a year of frustration and sideways glances, of denial and doubt. Nando kisses him because he damn well has to.  
  
Miraculously, Schmidt kisses him back. Gently and softly, like he’s precious, like he deserves to be held. There’s passion in there, the way he turns it open and messy, tongue on his teeth, but it never stops being gentle. It’s as good as a confession, better, because he doesn’t have to hear it, he can feel it to the bone.  
  
Nando only pulls away when his lungs demand it, and even then he can’t bring himself to go far, pants into his collarbone and refuses to let go of his hair. They’ve stopped dancing, and he can’t bring himself to care what people must be thinking through the buzz of pure bliss. Schmidt’s the one with the wherewithal to pull them into somewhere a little more private, though he certainly doesn’t mind the way Nando slots into his space as soon as they stop.  
  
“Tell me what you said at the ceremony.” he whispers, directly into his ear, grins at the way he shudders. He can feel it down the whole length of his body.  
  
“You know what I said.” he says, a low rumble, hands curling into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him even closer.  
  
“I’m the dumbest person here. Tell me again.”  
  
“You’re not. You’re brilliant.”  
  
“Schmidt, please. I’m trying to have a moment here.”  
  
“I love you.” he says, and it’s still shocking somehow. One thing to know and another to hear. “I love your smile, your laugh, your physique that you refuse to show off. I love how you pretend to be mean but can never follow through. I love your jokes, even the bad dad ones. I love you, in entirety, and I doubt I’ll stop for anything.”  
  
“Damn it, Schmidt. How am I supposed to follow that up?” he asks, but the joy softens anything like irritation. “Ok. I’m not good at this. Words, and saying things. I’m always worried I’m going to do it wrong. But I love you too. And I’m in it for the long haul, if you want.”  
  
“I do.” he says, and doesn’t seem to catch the irony. A genius and an idiot, and all his.  
  
Nando kisses him again, because he can. Because that thought is no longer one he has to shove away as soon as he spots it. Because he’s allowed to want this, want him.  
  
Allowed to wonder if, one day, he’ll hear wedding bells.

**Author's Note:**

> should it have taken this long to write this little? no but at least it's a vibe. as always: sorry karina
> 
> (also yes i did write full backstory for freya and charlie they're v cute but i didn't wanna distract from these gays with other gays. but also you know feel free to ask me about them)


End file.
